Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (27 page)

Faster than an adder, Darius slipped his dagger free and pressed it to the man’s side. Their gazes met in a flash and Darius shook his head. The man sneered, but his hand slunk back into his smelly, threadbare coat—a hand that clearly gripped a shank or some other crude weapon—before stumbling on.

“What was that about?” Ayva questioned. “You just ran straight into that man, Darius. How drunk
are
you?”

Gray merely squinted.

“A little,” Darius lied. The world was beginning to spin. He felt the ground lurch beneath him, and he gripped Gray’s arm for balance. “I probably shouldn’t have tried to outdrink that man at The Giant’s Gizzard. Or—” he burped “—perhaps it was spiked.” The thought sent a cold flush across his skin, and he hoped he was wrong.

“We can call this off,” Gray said.

Darius shook his head. “No.”

A group of men approached.

Ayva nervously walked closer to Darius. She assumed the air of indifference—a necessary mask he assumed she’d learned from working in her dad’s inn. Still, the men were making a straight line towards them. As if he’d feigned his drunkenness, Darius lunged. He snatched Gray’s collar suddenly and shoved him against the nearest wall. In the corner of his vision, he saw the men pause.

Gray cursed. “What in the—”

With an overly extravagant flourish, Darius whipped out his dagger. His fingers felt fat, nearly dropping the blade. Sweat flashed across his skin in panic, but he held on, spun the dagger in the air then put it to Gray’s throat. “Enough!” he shouted, loud enough for all to hear.

“Darius!” Ayva shouted.

“You’re leading me nowhere! Give me all the coin you promised and
now
, or I’ll do it!” His grip loosened just enough, and Gray’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. Darius belched, and it made his throat and mouth taste like bile. He suppressed a grimace, hoping Gray didn’t smell what he’d issued.

Gray recoiled, as if in fear, but more likely in disgust. “Please, I promise!” he shouted, voice quaking. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you.”

Darius snorted. “I knew you would. ’Course the band won’t be happy with just your coin. They wanted your life too. Lucky for you I’m the merciful sort. But you try
anything
foolish or hero-like, and the street will drink your blood. Quickly now, or I’ll tell the others! They’ll be coming soon, and they’re thirsty for violence.” He sneered and Gray feigned horror. He was shaking! Dice, he was
good
.

“I…”

He felt a tap on his shoulder and he spun, but his boot caught on something and he tripped, falling upon his rear. Through his blurred vision, he saw Ayva with an amused smile.

“I was just going to say, they’re gone.”

The alley they were in was now completely empty. It was without a doubt the darkest spot they’d been in so far. The only life he saw was a scurrying rat, and even
it
seemed to be running away. Even the occasional mangy dog or feral cat they’d seen before were nowhere to be seen. The buildings around them crowded close, blotting out the sky above as if casting a perpetual moonless night. The dirt beneath Darius felt wet and grimy. A stale smell hung in the air, like moldy water mixed with something rotten.

Darius groaned, rubbing his butt. “Who’s gone?”

“Uh, those vile looking men? They left as soon as you mentioned others coming. How drunk
are
you?”

He waved it off. “That hurt more than I expected. What did I land on?” He looked down and saw a long, white bone, as if from someone’s leg. “I hope that’s not human.” A hand shot before his face and he recoiled. When he opened his eyes, he saw Gray wearing a silly grin.

“That was the smartest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Gray said.

“I got the idea from this guy I know. Did it seem familiar?”

“Very,” said Gray. “In Lakewood, when your gambling nearly got you in over your head.”

“I still insist it was not my fault,” he grumbled. “But yes, you saved my skin back then, and now I saved yours. So we’re even, deal?”

Gray laughed. “Deal.”

Darius didn’t mention that Gray had probably saved him a dozen times after that, but if he didn’t remember, then he didn’t need to be reminded.

“Funny, that was our first meeting, all three of us,” Ayva said.

Darius took Gray’s hand and shot up, wavering on his feet. “Well—” he belched, covering his mouth and eyeing their pitiless surroundings “—let’s hope this isn’t an ending to that beginning. If it is though, it’ll be a beautiful ending!”

“You’re scary when you’re drunk,” Ayva said.

“That’s the idea,” he answered.

“That’s not—”

Darius stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Ayva asked, reaching for her white dagger.

Darius looked ahead, nodding.

At the end of the dirty, dank street was a huge building, bigger than all the others. It had open windows. Smoke emanated from them like from tiny mouths, and shadows indicated there were people inside. But his eyes were rooted to the swinging sign that was shaped like a leaf. He swayed, eyes narrowing. “It couldn’t be…”

In green lettering it read: Maris’ Luck.

“Is that…? That can’t be the same one,” Ayva said.

“It is,” Darius replied.

“But Faye said”—she lowered her voice despite the vacant alley—“even to say the word
Ronin
is a crime punishable by death.”

“This place is dangerous, Darius,” Gray said.

“Right,” Darius said. “Then this is the one?” He reached out, touching a building for balance. It felt slimy. He retracted his hand as if he had touched fire, wiping it on his crude green clothes.

“Maybe we should go to one a little less ominous,” Ayva suggested, stepping back. The inn seemed to
breathe
darkness. “The Dragon’s Tooth was just back there, or perhaps…”

Darius shook his head. “This is the one.” With that, he stepped forward, heading towards the solid oak door. Above it, the leaf-shaped sign rattled as if from a breeze, despite the windless alley. He heard voices and the sound of eerie music beyond. The sword on his back felt hot. Quickly, he scooped a handful of grime and dirt from the ground, wiping it on his face and clothes, and gestured the others to do the same. Both did so without pause, Ayva grimacing as she did.

With a breath of confidence, Darius grabbed the door, pulled it open, and ushered the others inside.

Filthy Liars

A
S
Z
ANE WALKED BRISKLY, HIS FEAR
was replaced by anger, blood simmering as he moved among the Lost Ones. He saw many helping those around them even before they helped themselves. They looked up at him, and despite their torture and torment, despite all the hardship they’d endured until now—a city casting them to its dark depths—many still had hope in their eyes. They were strong. Their minds and wills had been battered, but they pressed onward.

Salamander was a fool to think these people weak, Zane thought, but they did need his help. He would not let them die. No matter what Father said, even if it cost him his exile, he would not let a single Lost One—man, woman, or child—starve. Not if he could do something about it.

Suddenly, he
saw a familiar group in the distance, huddled around a fire that sat at the bank’s edge. They were backed against a huge pillar whose broad base was lit by the fires. In the day, however, the pillar was even more impressive—a monument rising up towards the vaulted ceiling high above, as if supporting all of Farbs with its girth.

“Zane!” a reedy youth called, standing. “Have you eaten?”

The others batted at him, yanking on his leg and trying to silence him. But the youth ignored them, flagging Zane over eagerly. Grudgingly, Zane veered towards them.

Steam rose from a nearby kettle that hung over the low burning fire. In the dim light from the flickering flames, he took in the three youths. Rygar was short but stout, like a stump. As the most senior, his too-small brown rags bore the Lost Ones’ emblem.

The other two were new. As such, they still had their thief names. Dasher was quiet as a breeze, wrapping his arms around himself and looking nervous at Zane’s approach. He seemed as if he was trying to disappear in his own clothes. Lastly, Lucky, the one who’d summoned him, was tall but scrappy. Blond hair much like Zane’s topped his head, but it was oily and he’d styled it to stick up at odd angles.

Dasher ladled a bowl for him.

Lucky snatched it, handing it to Zane. “Here you go, Shade,” he said, dipping his head.

Shade
, he repeated inwardly, finally addressing the name.

In the desert, shade was protection, a respite from the tireless sun and even a symbol of life and generosity. It was a name many of the Lost Ones had begun to call him. It had happened faster than he had expected, and now nearly everyone was calling him that. Bringing food and coin to the Lost Ones had gained him the title, he assumed, but Father said it was more.

Zane sniffed the bowl. Rat soup, he determined, eyeing the murky green liquid and its thin shreds of meat. In truth, it was little more than broth, but at least it was something. He settled down, his back to the huge column as the others watched him.

“Sorry, Z. We tried silencing Lucky. He didn’t mean to wake anyone up. He’s still learning the rules,” Rygar, the oldest of the bunch, explained. While Rygar was barely more than a boy, he had been a Lost One nearly as long as Zane. Still, Rygar was starting to gain a little stubble on his cheeks, and his kind nature was slowly gaining backbone, perhaps due to his deepening voice—a confusing baritone like a man twice his size.

“It’s all right,” he replied simply.

“I don’t get it. Why do we have to be silent?” Lucky asked.

“Silence is our best friend as a Lost One,” Zane said. “Hiding has kept us alive.”

“But aren’t we hidden down here?” Dasher asked nervously.

“These walls are thick as buildings, but the caverns echo and carry noise like a Reaver’s voice,” he explained. Zane had seen a Reaver wielding the spark speak in a voice that had boomed over a thousand heads.

The three nodded, looking nervous in Zane’s presence. He sat back, lounging and sipping the hot broth in silence. “Don’t mind me. What were you all talking about?”

“Dasher here was just telling us about the rumors,” Rygar said, matter-of-factly.

Dasher flushed red. “No, I wasn’t!”

“Sure you were, something about outsiders?” Lucky pressed.

Dasher sighed. “All I heard was that there were some outsiders asking all sorts of questions in the Shadow’s Corner.”

“So?” Lucky asked.

“So,” Dasher voiced, “They said they’d been to a dozen inns already, asking after the same things again and again.”

“What kind of things?” Rygar pressed.

Dasher eyed Zane then shrunk further into his clothes. “Stuff about the Citadel.”

“They’re looking for trouble then. Asking about the Citadel leads to no good,” said Rygar, stirring the soup and shaking his head. He lifted a spoonful to taste. “Was that all, Dash?”

“Yeah, what’d they look like?” Lucky added.

Dasher shrugged. “All I heard is that it was two boys and a girl. And they rode in on cormacs.”

Rygar choked, spraying soup.

“Cormacs?”
Lucky sputtered. “You can’t be serious, can you? Elvin steeds! Were they elves then?”

Dasher shrugged again. “Don’t ask me. No one said. And I’ve never seen an elf so how would I know?”

“Cormacs…” Rygar breathed. “I bet selling one of them could fetch enough food for all the Lost Ones for at least a week or more!”

Lucky rocked back then scoffed. “Well, it’s not
that
impressive.”

“Oh, ya? What’s more impressive than cormacs?” Rygar asked in his oddly deep rumble.

“
I
heard something to make a Devari quake in his boots!” said Lucky.

“Go on,” said Zane, hand stilling upon the statue in his pocket.

Lucky swallowed, looking suddenly squeamish. “Well, I don’t know if it was true, but I heard that a man in black with a huge dark cloak was seen about The Shadow’s Corner. They say he moved like a nightmare. Salamander and a few others were following him like a bunch of faithful hounds.”

“Who was he?” Dasher whispered.

Rygar was spooning the soup absently, spilling it upon the dusty stone.

Lucky licked his lips, leaning forward, and then whispered, “
Darkeye
.”

Silence held the three.

Zane spoke suddenly, drawing their eyes. “Where’d you hear this?”

The boy looked as if he’d just been caught in a trap. Lucky was a notorious liar. Not bad at heart, just still a young thief to his core. He could see it in the boy’s eyes.
Old habits are hard to kill,
Zane admitted to himself. “If you think I’m lying, I’m not!” Lucky protested quickly, raising his hands defensively, then crossed his heart with a finger. “String me up by my toes and call me an elf,
but I’m not lying
.”